Alicia could have responded sharply, hinting at her own turbulent past, at the drunken father that regularly beat up her mother, making Alicia run away for the first time in her life, at all the chaotic years since, but chose only to say, “Kid looks even younger when he’s sleeping.”
Russo seemed happy with that, offering a slight smile.
Crouch filled a long silence. “Carlos Rivera is a civilian, so be nice. He’s offered to help simply because he’s a nice guy. He’s cut from the old cloth — wanting to believe in the treasure, but due to the nature of his job is forced to be a skeptic. There will be no sudden revelations here, people, merely hard detective work.”
The traffic thundered and growled along to left and right of them, horns honking, and hot, angry Mexicans gesturing out of their half-open windows. Alicia looked ahead to the approaching high-rises, wondering briefly what manner of mayhem Matt Drake and the SPEAR team might be up to their necks in by now. Her old team… if those guys ever stayed out of trouble for more than three days she’d happily moon a vicar. Although that was a distinct possibility on any given day.
When they arrived at the Templo Mayor Museum, Alicia was surprised. The dig was ongoing, taking place in the middle of a sprawling, busy city, but it looked like it was being carved out of the center of the industrious masses whilst they still worked. Several buildings stood right up against the dig site, their rear facades pitted and broken as if an adjoining building had been torn down to make way for the museum. Alicia wondered how many caverns extended underneath the surrounding buildings and how fragile the infrastructure was around here. Mexico City had been the epicenter of several terrible earthquakes including one in 1985 that took thousands of lives.
Crouch stepped out of the limo, gesturing for them to follow. Alicia left Russo to wake the youngster, joining their boss beside a bleak gray façade — the side of the building. Though she hadn’t visited many museums, Alicia had seen her fair share and wasn’t impressed by this one.
“Seems… uninviting,” she said. “Like Birmingham in the seventies.”
Crouch nodded. “They’re desperately short of money. Every dollar they make goes toward the dig. And the government’s bogged down with the cartels.” He blinked and added cryptically, “One way or another.”
Alicia caught on instantly. “Mexico never changes either, huh?”
At that moment a figure approached them. Alicia, always hyper-aware, turned quickly to see an older man wearing jeans and a faded brown leather jacket, his wrinkled face scrunched up as he faced the sun.
“Michael.” He smiled. “So good to see you.”
“And you, Carlos.” Crouch gripped his hand warmly. “How’s the life in la Capital?”
“As she says,” Rivera nodded toward Alicia. “It never changes.”
She gestured behind the historian. “So this is the dig? The great pyramid?”
Rivera turned. “You’re looking at the eastern side of the great twin temple of the Aztecs, the Templo Mayor, or what’s left of it. Called the Huei Teocalli in the Nahuatl language, which was the language of the Aztecs, and dedicated to not one but two gods — the god of war and the god of rain and agriculture. Each had a shrine at the top with separate staircases. Construction began around 1325.” He sighed heavily. “Destroyed by the Spanish in 1521.”
Alicia walked across to the black railing and leaned over. “All I see is a great big pile of rocks. And a few snakes.”
Rivera and the rest of them joined her, staring over the ruins of the once great temple. “The Aztecs and most other religions around the world held the serpent as a double-headed symbol. One head seduces you, the other gives you self-control. Or it could have merely symbolized rebirth — the shedding of the skin. As for the pile of rocks, well, Cortés thought so too.”
Alicia said nothing, the wind catching her hair as it swept across the open space. Crouch stepped in.
“What can you tell us, Carlos? What can you tell us about the seven caravans that left here on that June night five hundred years ago?”
“What I want to believe,” Rivera took a self-conscious glance around, “is that seven caravans left this place loaded with the most precious of all the Aztec treasures. I want to believe that they were transported safely, hidden away, and that Cortés never got his hands on them. Skepticism though… it is drilled into us from the very beginning.”
“We’re open to anything,” Alicia told him. “Always have been.”
“My heart says that these treasures — the ones authentically verified through study of letters sent by Hernán Cortés to the king of Spain — were not destroyed by the Spaniards nor stolen and spirited away to who knows where. It tells me that the Aztecs were as clever as we all believe and managed to save their riches, expecting them to be returned at a later date.”
“So the caravan left,” Healey broke in. “Secreted itself for a few months, and then returned?”
“If that only were the case.” Rivera pursed his lips, unhappy. “But again history and the head tells us that only half of the warriors would have returned immediately, bringing directions to the treasure. The problem is that what they returned to wasn’t at all what they left behind. Their capital, Tenochtitlan, was under siege, then razed, destroyed. Demoralized and beaten, what would they do? Make the long journey back to the treasure yet again? No, most would have stayed close to their birthplace and assimilated into the local tribes, the ones Cortés didn’t massacre to the last man.”
“Keeping the location of the treasure close to them.” Crouch squinted across the ruins. “And as they died… ”
“The treasure’s existence passed into legend. Folklore. Those that stayed behind to guard it would have faced a similar dilemma, eventually dying also but with no knowledge of what had happened.” Rivera shrugged. “Unless some kind soul actually made the journey back. Who knows?”
“So do we know what happened specifically to those that returned?” Alicia picked up on the thread. “Where did they go?”
“We do, yes.” Rivera nodded. “Mostly, one group of people, a single large tribe in Mexico retain Aztec DNA in their blood to this very day—”
Healey cleared his throat. “Now that’s cool. Damn cool.”
“You’d like to have Aztec blood in you?” Russo wondered.
“Christ, yeah. Wouldn’t everyone?”
Alicia rolled her eyes and held Rivera’s gaze. “Which people?”
“The Nahua. Once a great rival tribe to the Aztecs, the Nahua largely survived the Spanish invasion. It is generally believed that the returning and any other surviving Aztecs would have joined them. And of course, authentic DNA tests now prove that they did.”
“Sounds like a starting point,” Crouch said. “But you mentioned the Nahua were a large tribe. That’s going to make it tough to find any descendants.”
“Not any more. The Nahuatl-speaking people are the largest Indian group in Mexico, forming almost a quarter of the native population of our country. They still reside around the periphery of what was once the Aztec empire. One of these peoples, those living in La Huasteca — such a beautiful area — are the oldest living relatives of the Aztecs. They would not dilute their heritage. For good or bad those particular Nahua are now a small tribe living in northern Mexico. You would need a guide to take you there, though. The landscape, though stunning, can be treacherous.”
“Not a problem,” Crouch said. “If you have any recommendations… ”
Rivera nodded. “Follow me into the museum.”
The odd group turned around and made their way to the entrance. As they walked Alicia spoke into Crouch’s ear. “I get that a tribal group may keep secrets down the generations,” she said. “I understand the likelihood that they have some kind of knowledge. But why would they now reveal it to us? Surely this has been tried before?”